


Alone Again? (But Maybe Not)

by Mistfire24



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Adorable, Angst, Anxiety, Childhood Apraxia of Speech, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, I mean it's a kid fic tho, It All Turns Out Okay In The End, Mild Language, Orphan Peter Parker, Panic Attacks, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Separation Anxiety, Young Peter Parker, but not really, mostly fluff that hurts your heart, so not that many curse words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistfire24/pseuds/Mistfire24
Summary: Set right after the Chitauri Invasion in New York, the Avengers are picking through the rubble when they happen across young Peter Parker. And what else should they do, but bring the 6 year old to Stark Towers to live with them.With a lot of fluff, and some angst, but mostly family feels, this is the progression of a certain Peter Benjamin Parker into the Avenger's lives, and into their hearts.ORSteve Rogers falls in love with Peter at first hug and refuses to let him go for anything. Smol Peter FTW





	1. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you've decided to give this story a try! I'm currently still writing it, and it should be quite long, but I don't know how long exactly. Peter Parker is worth the world to me and he is precious and must be protected.  
> This story makes some canon divergences, in which everyone goes back to the tower to live there, Thor after getting to the tower, immediately takes Loki back to Agard and returns the next day, Fury is no where to be found in the beginning, and Bruce needs a while to calm back down from Hulk.

Dust and ash still choked the air hours after the Chitauri Invasion, a silent deadly blanket that wratpped around New York and smothered the life from it.

A group of seven people were picking their way through the destruction, the only movement in a quiet world. One of them was limping carefully through the wreckage, being helped along by a taller curly haired man. The shorter man was grumbling quietly.

"Come on Bruce, I can walk by myself. Besides, you're still tired from the Other Guy."

He hissed as he put weight on his foot and continued hobbling. Bruce rolled his eyes fondly and continued to help the shorter man. "Tony, just stop already. You almost _died._ The least you can do is let one of us help you."

He jerked his head in the direction of a large blonde man carrying a hammer. "Thor offered to carry you, so unless you want that, shut your pie-hole."

Tony glanced behind him at Thor, and the muscley man grinned widely at him. He grimaced.

"Man of Iron!" Thor called out. "I do not mind if you wish to rest! You will be very light, I think. Nothing like-" The man leading them let out a quick "hush".

They fell into an uneasy silence.

* * *

Steve called for silence as he glanced around warily, eyeing the dark crevices and shadowy nooks with suspicion. He could've sworn he heard something coming from under the rubble. He signaled to Clint and Natasha, and they moved in position behind him silently, Clint nocking an arrow while Nat held her gun at the ready. Steve listened carefully, before he heard it, without enhanced senses it would have been impossible to hear. A small shifting of rocks and a short breath.

He approached cautiously, holding his shield out in front of him as he reached forward to grasp a part of a wall. Steve lifted it up slowly, bracing himself as dust swirled up, obscuring his view for a moment.

The dust cleared and Steve found himself looking at a young boy who was blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden light. The boy was young and skinny, he looked about five years old. He was covered in grime, except for the clean tear tracks on his cheeks that shone in the light. He sniffled a bit, staring back a Steve with innocent brown eyes. The hero felt his heart drop, cold settling into his limbs as he stared at the boy.

 _This_ was the cost of not stopping Loki when they had the chance. This child had likely lost both his parents and he would never be the same. Steve could sense Clint and Natasha relaxing, lowering their weapons as they looked at the small boy who was so obviously not a threat.

Steve lowered his voice to soothing. "Hey bud, can you come here?" He extended a hand, shield on the ground.

The boy shuffled forward a step a cautiously, hesitantly, extended a hand before he drew back, looking frightened. Steve glanced to the side.

"Nat can you put that away? You're scaring him."

Natasha blinked, as if the thought that someone might be afraid of guns was a foreign one. But she shoved the gun back into her belt and looped her fingers around her waist.

The boy blinked once, before scrambling out from underneath the debris. Clint caught his shoulder before the kid could run off. The archer bent down to his level. "Hey, kiddo, calm down, we're going to help you."

The boy struggled weakly for a moment before he chewed on his lip, as if debating on something. With a quick tug, the kid sent Clint sprawling onto the ground before scampering away.

"What the _hell!_ " Clint coughed. "That kid is unnaturally strong."

Steve chased after the boy, because although he was freakishly strong and fast, Steve was a fully developed super-soldier and could easily catch him. He grasped the boy's shoulders and turned him around to face him. The kid struggled wildly, kicking and punching with surprising force. Steve's mind raced, What should he _do_ _?_   To get him to stop struggling, Steve enveloped the boy in a hug and dropped his head near the kid's ears.

"Hey, hey, little one," he hushed, gently rubbing his back. "We're not going to turn you in. We can help you find your family. We're the Avengers, we helped save the city, we can help save you."

The child stopped struggling and was still in his arms. Steve loosened his arms and the boy drew back a little to look at him.

"You-re Cap'tain Merica," the little boy said wonderingly.

Steve nodded once and the boy looked down shyly. "Will you come with me now?" He asked gently.

The boy nodded and when Steve extended a hand to him, he looked up at Steve in awe, and gently took his hand. They started to walk back to the rest of the group.

"What's your name?" Steve asked.

"Peter Parker," he said.

"I like your name Peter," Steve said, and Peter gave him a shy smile.

"I li-ke your nah-me also. Cap'tain A-merica," he said carefully, sounding it out.

Steve smiled softly at the little boy. "Do you want to know my real name?"

Peter frowned. "Buh-t I al'ready know your real nah-me. Cap'tain A-merica."

He laughed. "No, Peter, my actual name that I grew up with. It's Steve Rogers."

Peter's eyes lit up. "Stevuh Rog-ers" he carefully enunciated. "I li-ke it." he announced.

"I'm glad," Steve laughed. "As it is my name."

Peter hummed thoughtfully as Steve helped him over the remains of a wall. "Do you th-ihnk I spe-ak funny?"

Steve turned to him, surprised. "Course not, little one. Why do you say that?"

Peter scuffed his sneaker against the ground. "Aun- May says I have a sp-eech imp-, imp-, imped-," Peter let the word go with a huff, a look go incredible frustration on his face.

"Impediment?" Steve broke in gently. Peter nodded firmly.

"I -ave child-ood apra-ia of sp-eech," Peter managed to get, before puffing his chest up proudly.

"How old are you Peter?"

Peter grinned toothily up at him, revealing two missing teeth. "Si-ix an- a month!"

"Wow you're so old!" Steve leaned in conspiratorially, squeezing Peter's hand. "You wanna know how old I am?" Peter nodded vigorously. "Well," he whispered. "I'm ninety four." Peter's eyes blew wide open.

"Woooooooaaaaahhhhh," he whispered in awe.

Steve laughed at his gobsmacked expression and tugged him gently towards the other Avengers. As Peter approached them, he drew tighter and tighter into himself before pulling his hand from Steve's. Steve felt a tiny jolt of sadness that was quickly replaced by warmth as Peter hid behind his leg, clutching the fabric of his pants with small hands. He rested a hand on the top of Peter's head and ruffled his chestnut hair comfortingly.

"Everyone," he said. "This is Peter. Peter, this is the Avengers."

The child peered around Steve's leg with wide eyes and gave a little finger wave before retreating back to the safety of Steve's presence.

"Jeezus Steve," Tony exclaimed. "We walk back from Schwarma to do one last sweep for remaining Chitauri, and you come back with a small human stray?!?"

Steve gave him a pointed glare, and Tony threw up his hands, exasperated. With a sigh and a short grunt of pain, Tony limped over to Peter. "Kid, where's your parents?" he asked, not unkindly.

Peter looked at the billionaire, and then up at Steve, and Steve nodded encouragingly. "Aun- May an- Uncle Ben says they-re go-ne." Peter recited.

The Avengers exchanged frowns.

"Well, then where's your Aunt May and Uncle Ben?" Tony asks patiently.

The child's lip begins to tremble, and he fisted his tiny hands in the fabric of Steve's pants. "I don kno-" he blurted out. "They wer -ere an den they push-ed me ou of uh way an all I see is bui-in an I tru-p-ed un-er  uff-" Peter at this point, who had been getting more and more upset, completely dissolved into incomprehensible words, crying.

The Avengers exchanged sad and worried looks, Clint especially looked concerned for the boy. He knew the impact possible foster homes would have on the boy. Steve knelt down to the distraught child, and Peter immediately lifted his arms up. The super-soldier hoisted Peter up on his hip, and the boy buried his head in Steve's shoulder while he murmured soft words to the child.

Tony looked up. "Last name?"

"Parker."

The genius nodded and quickly typed something into his phone.

Steve swayed back and forth with Peter as Natasha crept closer, finally brushing his bangs back from his eyes with one delicate hand. Peter whimpered and snuggled into Steve's shoulder. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, the child fell asleep on the only safe place he knew right then, Steve. The hero was rubbing his back gently and humming an old nursery rhyme his own mother used to sing.

Tony Stark looked up from his phone. "I've got news," he announced quietly. "But it's nothing good." The Avengers drew in closer together around Tony, holding their breath for the little boy.

"He has no family left," he told them gravely. There was a collective sagging as they all looked pitying at the sleeping boy. Tony continued scrolling on his phone, brows wrinkling as he read more. "Says his parents left him at four with his aunt and uncle before they died. His aunt and uncle never added him in their will, including the issue of guardianship because it looks like this was never supposed to be permanent."

Clint sighed with a heavy heart. "Looks like he'll go into the foster system," he grumbled, glaring reproachfully at the ground as if it somehow had a hand in the events that were playing out.

Steve's arms tightened protectively around Peter and the boy let out a tiny sigh and cuddled closer, sending a wave of warmth through Steve, erasing the cold he had felt since he had found Peter. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, straightening.

"No."

Tony and Clint whipped their heads around to stare.

"No?" Tony said incredulously. "We can't just keep a kid Rogers."

Steve shook his head. "I don't mean permanently, like adoption," he said, though he glanced towards Peter longingly. "I mean keep him temporarily, foster him if you must, till we find a good home for him."

Clint looked hopeful at the prospect of no foster home, but Tony looked like he was going to object. He sighed.

"What does everyone think about this?"

Clint smiled. "I'm all in." Bruce shrugged, giving a little half-smile.

Thor beamed. "He will have much happiness with us," he boomed. As one, everyone turned to shush him, and the god of thunder gave a sheepish smile. Natasha gave a rare genuine smile to the boy in Steve's arms as he continued to sleep.

Tony gave a defeated sigh. "I see you're all against me, and even though I think we'll be a terrible family, we can take him."

The tension fled Steve's body as he smiled in relief. "Nat, hand me my shield please." When she did so, the assassin shifted closer as Steve hung the shield on his back. She gently ran her knuckles down Peter's soft cheek, an air of tenderness around her. Steve noticed her fascination and turned to her.

"You want him?" he asked gently.

Natasha's gaze flashed with longing for a second before her guard was back up. She stepped away. "No, he should be with you when he wakes up."

Steve nodded, though he filed away the fact that Nat would most definitely like to hold Peter if the opportunity presented itself.

"Alright everyone!" Tony waved a hand. "Enough lovey-dovey, and let's get back to the tower, I can practically feel my masculinity draining out of me."

Natasha smirked. "What masculinity?"

Tony raised a hand to his chest in fake pain. "You wound me Romanov."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Come on children, let's go back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, some of you might be curious why Peter speaks so childishly if he is 6. Well, as stated, Peter has Childhood Apraxia of Speech, a type of speech impediment. This speech impediment causes children to talk rather strangely. They do not understand where to put their tongue and how to make the movements to pronounce the right words. This can be easily remedied by taking speech therapy. Normally, children can go into speech therapy at two or three, and stay in therapy for around three years and speak perfectly. Most children have gotten over their speech impediment by age 6. However, in this story, Mary and Richard Parker only had time for a year of therapy before he was passed on to May and Ben. However, they didn't realize he had a speech impediment till he was five. So they took him to therapy, but they couldn't afford the therapy he needed, so he went only once a month. That's why Peter knows roughly where to put his tongue and how to move his mouth, but he has to really concentrate to get it to sound exactly right. So he talks slowly, and struggles with some bigger words. Also he only has a speech impediment because when I started writing, I had no idea how a 6 year old talks, so he sounded really childish.
> 
> This will be updated when I need motivation to keep writing the story, and once it is finished, should be typed out as soon as possible. It will be long, right now I have 80 hand written pages and counting, so be prepared.  
> I hope you will continue with this journey! ^^


	2. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter wakes up, and all is good, until the truth hits him in the face like a ton of bricks.  
> And bricks hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your response was so positive to the last chapter, I just had to update for your guys!  
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos!  
> Have some sad Peter and dad Steve as a reward.

Peter was kinda uncomfortable.

He shifted slightly and buried his face into his mattress. Sniffing al little bit, Peter wrinkled his nose. The bed smelled like sweat, but he hadn't been having nightmares again, had he?

Confused, the boy cracked open an eye, light flooding his senses. The fabric was different too, he thought, more rough and stiffer than he remembered. As his eyes grew adjusted, Peter became aware of a low rumbling vibrating through him.

The six year old blinked up blearily around him, only to see an exhausted-looking Captain America.

Steve Rog-ers, Peter reminded himself firmly.

He gradually took in his surroundings, and realized he was curled up in the hero's lap, face pressed into his chest, with Captai-Steve, he tells himself again, encaging him gently with muscular arms.

"-an in-human," Steve was saying. "You saw how fast and strong he was. A six year old basically took down Clint-"

"Hey," said man interrupted. "That makes it sounds like the kid body flipped me!"

Tony snorted. "I can just imagine it. Tiny six year old Peter Parker grasps Clint at the wrist and full on body flips him."

Peter deducted that they were talking about him, and he should probably make himself known, because it was rude of people to talk about him in the same room, Aunt May always said.

Peter let out a little mewl as he stretched out in Steve's arms. He blinked rapidly to dissipate the last bit of sleep, before fisting his hands and rubbing his knuckles in his eyelids. Then Peter felt gentle fingers encircling his wrists as they tugged his hands away from his eyes. Peter's eyes blinked open to see Steve's blue eyes staring down at him.

"Don't rub your eyes," he told Peter softly. "It's bad for you."

The child cocked his head inquisitively at the older man, before dropping his hands and turning around in Steve's lap to face the rest of the room. Steve's hands interlaced together around Peter's stomach, ensuring that the boy rested snugly against his chest.

Peter regarded the room curiously, seeing Tony Stark, the archer (Clint he thinks), and the red haired lady, but none of the other Avengers.

"Ah," the other blonde called. "The little freak is awake." He said it fondly, but Peter still gave him a disappointed look.

"Aun- May says you shou-n't call some-un mean names," he told the archer firmly.

The room fell silent for a moment before Tony barked a laugh.

"Should call him little Cap! Acts just like you, Steve."

Peter tilted his head back to look at the hero. Steve was studying him, an amused look on his face.

"Hmm. . . ." the archer mused, drawing Peter's attention back to him. "Little Cap. It suits him." The man shot him a childish smile. "Names Clint, little Cap, and that fiery red-head is Natasha."

Peter twisted his head around to look at the newly named Natasha. She winked an eye at him and Peter gave her a little finger wave.

It was all so exciting! Peter wondered what Aunt May and Uncle Ben would say when he told them that he met the Avengers! And sat in Captain America's lap! Peter turned this over in his mind, imagining how Uncle Ben would ruffle his hair, bend down to his level, and tap his head, saying "You better remember that kiddo." Aunt May would lift him up onto her lap, and tickle him, saying "That's cause you're special Peter. My special boy." And they would laugh together.

Peter smiled. He couldn't wait to see them again and tell them about his adventure. But then his body stiffened.

He wouldn't be able to tell them about this. He _couldn't_ tell them. Because they were go-ne. They weren't coming back. They left him like his parents did.

Peter's hands tightened over Steve's, and he let out a choked sob, eyes filling with tears.

"Peter?" Steve asked.

The boy just shuddered another sob out.

The man gently picked him up and situated him so that his face was turned into the soldiers neck. Steve stood up off the couch.

"I think we're going to bed now."

"That's fine," Tony said. "I was just about to head up as well. By the way, that room next to yours is for him. I set it up."

"Thank you."

Peter curled his hands into the collar of Captain America's uniform, the world a blur as teared obscured his view.

They walked for a while before Peter heard a door opening and closing before bedsprings creaked and felt himself being pulled away from Steve's chest. But Peter sobbed and reached forward blindly and wrapped his arms around the hero's neck. He froze for a second before encasing Peter in his arms and rubbing his back.

"Shhh . . . You'll be alright," he murmured.

They stayed that way until Peter's tears had subsided somewhat. Peter felt him pull back, and a concerned Steve Rogers' face came into view. The American hero cupped Peter's face in his hands, and tenderly wiped his tears away with the pad of his thumb. Steve didn't say anything and Peter was glad, because he didn't think he was capable of coherent speech right now.

The man gently set him down on the bedspread and got up. Steve rummaged though his dresser before pulling out something and giving a frustrated noise.

He came back over to Peter. "I'll be right back, okay little one?" he said softly.

Peter sniffled up at him and nodded.

Steve left the room and Peter looked around. The walls were painted a solid blue with a mahogany furniture set, some papers and a few sketchbooks rested on top of the dresser. It did not have the look of a room lived in.

Peter spread his fingers on the gray and blue plaid comforter, watching the wrinkles that appeared and disappeared as his fingers opened and closed. Peter watched this all with a detached emptiness, grief a shadow behind hollow eyes.

He didn't know how much time had passed before the door opened again and Steve came in, a bundle of clothes in his arms. He came over to Peter.

"Come on little one, let's get you out of those dusty clothes, we can give you a bath tomorrow."

Peter blinked blankly up at him before lifting his arms obediently.

Steve tugged his ripped and ashy t-shirt off of him and fitted his hands through a large grey t-shirt. The shirt fell down past his knees, and Peter was practically swimming in it.

Steve looked down regretfully. "Sorry, this is one of mine, but we'll get you new clothes in the morning."

The super-soldier knelt down and slipped of Peter's socks and sneakers. He lifted the boy off the bed.

"Slip off your pants please."

The boy kicked off his pants and underwear before stepping into the pair of boxers Steve was holding out for him. Steve pulled them up a little past his hips before he grasped the drawstring and began to tie it as tight as possible.

"These are Tony's," he explained. "They're still huge, but he's the smallest one and he also has the drawstring."

Steve finished and let the shirt fall over the boxers.

"Come on," he said. "Let's use the bathroom before bed."

He led Peter by the hand to the bathroom. "Use this, okay little one? Make sure to wash your hands when you're done and I'll be right out here."

Peter nodded numbly and went inside the bathroom.

He finished his business and was able to stand on a crate to reach the sink.

When Peter came out of the bathroom, Steve had changed into his pyjamas, a plain soft white shirt and green plaid pyjama pants. Peter's mind briefly registered that Captain America must like plaid, before he descended back into numbness.

"Let's go to your bedroom, where you can sleep," Steve said, leading him by the hand.

Peter's world snapped into focus.

He couldn't let Steve leave. He just _couldn't._ Because, what if he left Peter, what if he became go-ne, like Peter's mother and father, and Aunt and Uncle. Peter couldn't let Steve be alone, because what if Steve disappeared? What would Peter do?

So the little boy dug his heels into the fluffy carpet and said his first word in over an hour.

"No."

Steve halted and looked back at Peter.

"No?" Steve asked, confused. "Well then where do you want to sleep?"

Peter tugged on his hand. "Wuh you."

The hero knelt down to his level. "Why don't you want to sleep in your own room?"

Brown eyes met blue.

"So you cah-t le-ave me, li-e eve-ruh el-se has."

Understanding and sorrow crossed Steve's face, darkening his expression.

"I won't leave you, I promise."

Peter looked up at him with trusting eyes.

"Foh For-eveah?"

An unnamed emotion flashed in his eyes before he nodded in affirmation.

"Promise for forever."

Peter contemplated this for a moment before he nodded. "Stuh wuh you doh?"

Steve smiled, though there was a sadness behind it. "Yeah, you can stay with me tonight."

The soldier led him over to the bed and pulled back the covers, before picking him up and setting him down gently on the bed. Peter tugged the comforter up to his chin and snuggled down into his pillow and yawned, exhaustion catching up with him. He blinked through bleary eyes as Steve turned off the lights and climbed into bed beside him. Peter curled up into the fetal position and extended a hand so that the tips of his fingers grazed Steve's arm.

Just in case, Peter told himself. His eyes drifted closed, and he floated off to sleep, finally reassured that he would not be alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter is a cinnamon roll that must be protected at all costs. Might be a little longer between updates now, because finals are the week after next and I need to study.  
> Don't fail your finals and have a lovely holiday time!!


	3. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up (after a long monologue about waking up that the author went far too deep into), and eats a lot of food. Then, his happiness is shattered. (get it?) Peter is sad again and people are sad that he's sad

The sunlight streaming through the window woke Steve, who blinked his eyes open to adjust to the light. A warm weight was settled on his chest, and Steve looked down to be greeted with the sight of an angelically sleeping Peter Parker.

The child's head rested on Steve's chest, tucked underneath his chin, brown hair tousled. Peter's fingers were curled under the collar of Steve's shirt, as if holding on so he couldn't go and leave Peter, Steve noticed.

The rest of the boy's body was laying a top of Steve's, as the super soldier's arm was wrapped around his torso.

Steve smiled fondly at the kid and pressed a kiss onto the top of his head.

Peter gave a little sleepy murmur and nuzzled the column of Steve's throat. The man smiled at closed his eyes, tightening his hold on the young orphan before falling back asleep.

* * *

Peter woke up.

It wasn't the abrupt awakening that left him wanting for more, and it wasn't the awakening where he would wake up before dozing and repeat the process multiple times, which by the end only made him more tired.

No, this was the gradual awakening. The one where he could feel the sun on his skin without being fully awake. Feel the softness of skin on his temple. Hear the steady bellows of breath. Smell the faint traces of laundry detergent, something flowery and sweet.

So when Peter drowsily blinked open his eyes, he already knew what he was.

Safe.

He already knew what he was not.

Alone. 

The boy glanced upwards, just to check, and met the warm gaze of Captain America.

"Hey little one," he smiled. Peter ducked his head, a little embarrassed.

"-ey"

His stomach rumbled, louder than his voice was. Steve chuckled. "Mm hung-ry," he mumbled.

"Get off me and we can have some food, okay?"

A six year old had never moved so fast.

When Steve slipped out of bed, Peter was bright-eyed and waiting for him, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently. 

"Hold your horses," Steve said, taking his shoulders and steering him towards the restroom. "Bathroom first, and wash your hands."

Peter gave him a look.

"Hey, hey," Steve laughed. "I know I said food, but this is important too!"

Peter thought about the bathroom for a second, before deciding that yes, he did actually need to go, and disappeared inside. He reappeared less than three minutes later, hands dripping with water.

Steve regarded his dripping hands suspiciously before taking his small hand and leading him out the door and down the hallway.

Peter wiped his free hand on the grey shirt he was wearing, causing a darker streak of grey to appear. The unlikely pair made their way into the kitchen where a boisterous crew was eating. 

Peter walked into the loud kitchen and was immediately submerged in a wave of sound. The Avengers were loud, crazy, and all dressed in pajamas.

The blonde archer, (Clint? He thinks) was perched on top of the island counter, feet resting on a stool. Tony Stark was sprawled in a chair by the table, lazily munching on a bagel, while red-haired Natasha nibbled delicately on a cheese pastry beside him. The curly haired man and the large blonde man were nowhere to be found at that point.

The three superheroes were chatting and laughing, extraordinarily loud for only three people. Clint spotted Peter first, eyes lighting up as he gesticulated to Peter wildly, mouth full of pastry.

Peter eyed the stool Clint was resting on with distrust. With the archers wide gestures, the stool had been rocking back and forth, while Clint had scooted dangerously close to the edge of the counter. The archer wobbled slightly before regaining his balance and stopping gesturing.

He swallowed forcefully and grinned at the super-soldier and child. "Little Cap!" Clint exclaimed joyfully. 

Tony raised his bagel towards them in greeting. "The sleeping beauties awake! Get some breakfast, it's 10:26 and we have to be somewhere at 11:15." 

Steve blinked. 

"We do?"

Tony waved a hand flippantly as Clint and Steve helped Peter onto a stool. "Well, not the little Capsicle, but you and I have to do paperwork."

The two continued to talk as Clint leaned down to Peter. "I bet you're hungry, am I right?" Peter gave him an exasperated look and Clint grinned. "You're right, that was a stupid question, kids are always hungry," he slid the plate of Danishes and bagels over towards Peter. The child tentatively took a cherry Danish from the pile and Clint winked.

"A boy after my own heart," he proclaimed. "Cherry Danishes are far superior to any other type of Danish or bagel!"

Peter nibbled on his Danish and found that it was indeed, delicious! Probably the best Danish he had ever tasted in his six years of life. Granted, he didn't think he had actually had a Danish before, but that was besides the point.

He made a little noise of affirmation in the back of his throat and Clint puffed out his chest.

"See Nat?" He crowed. "Peter thinks that cherry Danishes are the best, unlike your icky cheese Danishes."

Peter, who had already scarfed down his fist Danish, had acquired a second one, this one cheese, and had taken a large bite.

Nat snickered. "Ask your little sidekick then what he's eating."

Clint turned to Peter, aghast. "Peter," he slapped a hand over his heart. "How could you!? I thought we were pals!"

The boy giggled around a mouthful of cheese Danish. He swallowed. " 's good," he pointed out. 

"You were supposed to be on my team though, not Nat's," Clint pouted.

"Well, -en I can be -n bouth of you-r te-ams," Peter stated, with all the matter-of-factness of a small child.

Clint blinked, while Natasha smirked. "That's right," Natasha said. "You can be on both of our teams." Clint seemed to deflate a bit.

"Yeah, now we're even"

Nodding happily, Peter stuffed the last bit of his third pastry in his mouth before grabbing a cinnamon bagel.

"Good lord child," Tony exclaimed. "How much do you eat?"

Peter paused in the middle of a bite of bagel. " 'm 'ungry," he mumbled defensively, holding his bagel close to his chest as if the billionaire might take it away.

Steve chuckled and Tony snorted, taking a bite of his own bagel. "No, no, keep eating, I can more than pay for a super-soldier and a god, so I can pay for one super-child." Peter eyed Tony suspiciously, (hey, he never knows when someone is going to take his food!) but continued to munch on the bagel, gaze already locked onto a raisin bagel. Clint laughed and handed the bagel over to Peter and the little boy's eyes lit up as he snatched the bread product out of his hand.

The boy took a large bite, having already finished his cinnamon one. "Aun May say-s tha- I shou- eat all I ca-hn, buh we duhd'nt huh enou- food for ituh," he said, then paused as his shoulders slumped. 

Peter's eyes grew moist and he was subdued as he nibbled on his bagel half-heartedly, appetite gone. The child sniffed quietly behind his bagel, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Peter felt Clint sidle up next to him and slip down quietly into the adjacent stool.

The archer silently brushed his side against Peter, there but not really, a silent offering of comfort. Peter took it gladly, leaning into the blonde as he wrapped his arm around Peter's small shoulders. The boy tried to swallow the hard lump in his throat, to shove it down, so he wouldn't have to deal with it anymore.

But Aunt May and Uncle Ben, his parents of two wonderful years were go-ne.

And that pain in his throat grew, almost to the point of being unbearable, and Peter blinked rapidly, tears welling up in his eyes.

Clint just pulled the grieving child closer to him, rubbing his arm soothingly. Peter shuddered at the force of trying to hold his sobs back. 

"Just let them go," he murmured. "Let it all go."

That was all Peter needed as he sobbed again, turning into Clint's neck. The man picked him up carefully off his stool and settled the child in his lap. And so Peter broke down for the third time in twenty-four hours, weeping into Clint's pajama shirt, dampening the soft fabric. His little fingers clutched at the purple cloth, hooked into claws, grasping at the shirt as if it were a life-line. Clint folded his arms around the skinny boy and held him as he shuddered.

Steve hovered worriedly, concern practically rolling off of him. He reached forward before snatching his hand back, not willing to take the child away from his comfort.

"Steve," Tony called. "It's 10:48, we have to leave in ten minutes."

The super-soldier rounded on him, eyes flashing with rage. 

"I'm not leaving him Tony," Steve said carefully, every syllable vibrating with anger. "Not now."

Natasha was next to Steve in a flash, laying a hand on his bicep, a silent reminder not to lash out. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcefully relaxing. 

Steve opened his eyes, anger now safely contained and nodded thankfully at Natasha. The assassin retreated behind him to go stand by Clint, gently carding her fingers through Peter's silky hair comfortingly, as he was wracked with sobs.

The soldier stared defiantly at Tony. 

"I'm sorry," he said firmly, "but I can't leave him like this."

The genius looked at him for a moment before his gaze slid over to Peter, who was hiccupping out sobs. His eyes softened and he offered Steve a half-smile. "I really didn't expect you to," said Tony, leaning back nonchalantly in his chair, softer look gone. "We can be late, I'm Tony Stark and you're Captain America. Being late is our thing." 

He paused.

"Well, probably not yours, being a soldier and Mr. Perfect, and all."

Steve deflated, looking at Tony thankfully. "Don't you think you should at least call ahead and tell them? I mean we are taking custody of a young child, and this meeting could determine his future."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding me? You're fu-" a death glare from Steve "-reaking Captain America!" He recovered quickly and grinned at Steve. "You're like a model of excellence Cap, don't sweat it."

When Steve didn't look convinced, Tony sighed.

"You don't even curse!"

A small smile flitted across Steve's face before he turned back towards Peter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super sorry it took me like a year to update, life got in the way, and a lot of things happened, I got diagnosed with anxiety, which I already kinda knew? But it was nice to put a name to it and get medicine when I need it. School and extracurriculars got crazy, but I kept writing through it, and honestly the anxiety kinda helped me write what Peter is feeling, though his is quite a bit more serious than mine ^^ The only bad thing is that when I'm writing about the anxiety and attacks, I start getting anxious lol.  
> But I came back to the online version of this story and I was honestly shocked about how popular this story has gotten, and it's almost surpassed The Star-Spangled Man With A Plan, which was uber popular(for me). So thank you all for your support, and love, and comments, they always make me write faster :D See you in the next update!


	4. Wrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when it couldn't get any worse, it gets worse. In which Peter has flashbacks, anxiety, and a miserable time.

Peter had exhausted his tears, only taking shuddering breaths. The lump in his throat wasn't quite gone, but he could breathe easier now. His nose was stuffed up and he sniffed gently into Clint's neck, resting his head on the archer's shoulder. Peter practically melted as someone's fingers threaded through his hair, combing it out comfortingly. The tension fled from his body at the soft touch. His eyes fluttered shut as memories flashed across his eyes.

Peter, lying on the couch, head in Aunt May's lap and feet resting on Uncle Ben's lap. The room was dark as they watched a movie, Aunt May's fingers brushing through his hair as Peter's eyelids lazily drooped.

His mother sitting behind him on the queen bed with the worn-out comforter, humming an old tune. Peter's hair was damp from his bath, curling slightly as his temples from the heat of the water. Mary Parker was slowly weaving her fingers through her son's hair, the strands slipping like silk through her fingers.

"Mu-?" Peter asked, struggling with words. "Wu -ou till buh ere en I-m ol-d?"

Mary digested his words quickly and leaned forward to softly press a kiss on the top of her son's head. 

"Course pumpkin," she murmured. "I'll always be here for you."

Peter turned around to look her in the eyes. "Pro-mise fuh fuh-ev-ah?"

Mary smiled and poked him gently on the nose.

"Promise for forever," she agreed, before opening her arms for a hug.

His face lit up and he wrapped his arms around his mother's torso, surrounded by warmth, comfort the smell of roses, and a faint tang of chemicals. Peter snuggled into her stomach, releasing a contented sigh.

"Lo -ou muh."

Mary Parker smiled fondly at her son. 

"Love you too Peter."

* * *

The boy let out a little choked gasp and twined his arms tighter around Clint's neck, hiding his tear-stained face in the Avenger's collarbone. The person still stroking his hair began humming a soothing tune, ruffling his hair comfortingly. 

Peter squeezed his eyes tight before opening them, wishing  _desperately_   that he'd find Uncle Ben staring back at him.

But instead his brown orbs found Natasha looking back at him, one hand still tangled gently in his hair. The assassin's eyes were soft as she took in the small six year-old with red and tired eyes. She was still humming, a tune that made Peter relax slightly as she smoothed his hair out. Natasha's left hand cupped his cheek, while her right gently brushed his tears away with her knuckles. Peter's lips trembled slightly at the gesture, but he took a deep breath.

They hadn't left him, Peter knew that. He saw Natasha, and felt the warmth of Clint. He could even see Tony, bagel forgotten as he regarded Peter.

But a knot of dread coiled in Peter's stomach.

Where was Steve.

He promised he wouldn't leave Peter. He couldn't leave Peter because he  _promised._ The child turned his head carefully, slowly,  _not panicking_ he told himself. Steve was probably just behind him. But turning his head, Peter could see that no one else was in the room.

His heart stopped.

Steve wasn't go-ne right? He was just out of the room. Right? Steve wouldn't leave Peter. Because he  _promised._ And adults don't break their promises.

(His mother and father looking at him with sad eyes as Peter reached for them, crying, as his parents walked out the door.)

He flinched.

Steve wouldn't break his promise, Peter told himself anxiously. He told Peter he wouldn't.

(His mother telling him she would never ever leave him, even when he grew old.)

Peter shuddered and curled in on himself, smooshed bagel finally dropping to the floor. His breathing stuttered and it felt hard to take a breath.

There wasn't enough air, but then there was too much. Peter clutched his head as he trembled. Memories of being left along flashed through his mind, his mother, his father, his aunt, his uncle, and now Steve.

Peter's eyes were clenched tight, rocking back and forth as he tried to convince himself that Steve didn't leave him.

A few tears slipped out from beneath his eyelids as Peter breathed frantically. The child's small frame was heaving up and down, as he rocked himself back and forth.

He felt someone's arms around him, but he knocked them away. He was trapped, exposed, alone, overwhelmed.

A high-pitched whimper escaped his throat. Peter writhed, heart pounding in his ears, blood rushing by, drowning out the commotion outside his head. He heard voices as if through water. His eyes didn't see very well, hazy and dark as memories played out before him. His lungs felt as though a ton of concrete was dumped on top of his chest.

Peter just wanted Steve back, he didn't want to be alone anymore, he didn't want adults to break their promises.

He just wanted things to be  _normal_ again.

There was the muffled sound of heavy footsteps, and somehow through the murky gloom and haze of Peter's panic, a voice broke through.

"Peter! What's wrong? Are you okay?"

The boy uttered a cry of relief as the weight on his chest lessened.

Steve's voice broke through Peter's panic. He felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him. He gasped and began crying at the reassurance that they hadn't left him. He reached forward blindly, vision still dark and hazy, searching for Steve. 

He cried, "Stuh! Stuh-e!"

Peter desperately wanted Steve. Wanted Steve to tell him he wasn't alone, that he wasn't going to leave Peter alone.

Searching frantically with blind fingers, Peter finally felt hands hook underneath his armpits and pull him to a warm chest.

"Stuh-e!" he cried out again. 

The boy felt arms encircling him hesitantly.

"Shh, Peter. It's me, Steve."

Peter shuddered and curled his fingers into Steve's shirt. The weight on his chest had disappeared entirely and his vision was slowly coming back to him as Steve cradled him carefully. Peter blinked his eyes open, clearing away the last of the haze, and looked up at Steve, meeting his worried and comforting eyes, yet another reminder that Steve was still there.

"Peter," Steve said softly. "I didn't leave you. I wouldn't do that, I promised."

The child bit his lip eyes filling with tears again as he shook his head with the air of someone who has seen too much. 

"Thuh-s wha- dey -aid too." Peter managed to squeeze out.

Steve frowned.

"Who said that?"

Peter took a trembling breath, as if bracing himself.

"Muh Pah-ents."

And his face, that was holding so strong as he trembled, simply crumpled, the tears he had been holding back flooded out, wracking his body with sobs.

He didn't want to cry, he really didn't, but he just couldn't help himself. It was the relief that Steve was back, the sadness of his parents leaving, the shuddering shock that he was not alone. But mostly, it was the gripping, paralyzing fear that Steve would break his promise and leave him, that they would all leave him and Peter would be alone again, like he always was.

So Peter clung tighter to Steve, with his warm voice and kind eyes, clung tighter to the fact that, for right now at least, he was not alone.

In return, the super-soldier tightened his grip around the child, surrounding him in a warm embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Another chapter less than a week from the last one! I'm going to try out a new system, where if I write as many pages as I updated last, then that will be when I update. We will see how it goes, and I can't guarantee how frequent updates will be once school starts, but for now hopefully expect more frequent updates. And honestly all of your comments helped me write so much! I actually had that page opened on my phone whenever I was writing. You guys are so sweet and I love to update for you. And this story is not all sad angst, so just wait for the fluff, it will come. Love you guys! <3


	5. Splintered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our still upset boy is a little sad, but then he plays hide-and-seek.

Steve made his way over to the other room and sat down on the couch, still cradling Peter protectively in his arms as he wept.

The rest of the team followed, taking up various positions around him. Somebody had brought the plate of food with them and had put it on the coffee table. Tony reached forward and snatched an apple Danish before retreating back to his chair.

"Well," he said. "It appears his trauma goes deeper than I originally expected."

Steve's hackles rose and he gave the boy in his arms a reassuring squeeze while glaring at Tony. "What's that supposed to mean?!" he snarled.

The billionaire held out his hands placatingly. "Whoa, whoa mother wolf, calm down. I only meant-"

"What he only meant," Clint chimed in, from his perch on the back of the couch. "Is that Peter probably has fear that has been going on for awhile, probably since his parents left, and not just trauma from the invasion. He likely has monophobia, or fear of being alone, and possibly mild separation anxiety with panic attacks if what we just saw was any indication." He halted and gazed sorrowfully at the still sobbing boy. "He's seen too much," Clint whispered sadly, sliding down onto the seat of the couch, next to Steve, rubbing Peter's back gently.

"We've all seen too much," Natasha said softly.

Tony watched Peter sympathetically, an uncharacteristically kind expression on his face. But he blinked and it was gone. "Hey Cap," he called, after watching the now hiccupping boy exhausting his tears in the arms of Steve. "You ever get that-," he paused, glancing at the boy who was slowly recovering. " _Thing_ " he said significantly, giving Steve a look. "That you went down to get?"

Clint looked up. " _Thing?_ " he mouthed confusedly, looking at Natasha for help. She gave him a knowing smirk and shrugged.

"Oh it's in the kitchen," Steve said. "I accidently brought it with me without buying it after JARVIS told me about Peter. I kinda rushed up here." He grinned sheepishly, pressing his face into Peter's hair and placing a kiss on the top of his head fondly.

Tony regarded the familiarity, a slight longing inside him aching for the trusting touch of a child as Natasha padded past him to the kitchen. Clint scooted forward, peering into the kitchen curiously.

The assassin came back quickly, one hand held behind her back and one hand over her mouth, hiding her smile, though her eyes twinkled with amusement as her shoulders shook. Clint bounced on the edge of his seat impatiently, trying to peek around Natasha to see what she held behind her back.

Tony shot a quick glance at Steve. "Don't worry about paying for it, I own the whole building." He paused, exasperated. "Nat, what is it? And why are you smiling like that?"

She just shook her head and took out her hand from behind her back, holding it out. And there, held in her hand was a red, fluffy, Iron Man stuffed toy.

Clint's mouth hung open in shock before he snorted. Snickering, he looked at Tony, who was biting his lip in an effort to not grin at the purchase.

They all turned to Steve, raising an imaginary eyebrow. Redness rose to his cheeks, and he adjusted Peter in his lap, studiously avoiding their amused looks. Clint hummed a little. "We're waaaitinnng," he singsonged.

"Don't look at me like that," the soldier protested. "The only stuffed animals they have down there are Iron Man ones!"

Natasha smirked and gave Tony a look, tossing the toy to Tony. He caught it easily and grinned, turning it over before throwing it to Steve, who caught it with one hand. Tony shot a smile to Steve, tossing his head back arrogantly.

"What can I say," he snarked. "It  _is_ my store."

* * *

Peter sniffled and rubbed his burning eyes as he snuggled closer into Steve's soft shirt. He took a deep shuddering breath before releasing it slowly. Squeezing his eyes shut, Peter wiped the last of his tears away before turning around in Steve's lap to face the world. Clint cheered when he saw his face, smiling widely.

"There's my little buddy!" He called.

Peter felt a little smile slip out at that, and Clint grinned wider. "There you go! That's my boy."

Steve's arms tightened around him and the soldier gave a soft chuckle. Nat and Tony smiled gently at the child and he gave them a weak smile.

"Hey kiddo," Steve said, his voice rumbling through Peter's body. "I got you something."

The boy blinked. For him? What could Captain America get him? He tilted his head back to peer at Steve questioningly. He grinned. "I thought you might want something to cuddle."

And with that, he pulled out a fluffy Iron Man plush.

Peter's eyes opened wide and he stretched out his hands, stopping just short of the toy. He glanced over to Clint for reassurance.

" 's mi-ne?" he asked, seeming to brace himself for the worst. 

And to everyone's surprise, it was Tony that answered.

"Yeah kiddo," he said. "It's yours."

Peter's eyes filled with wonder, and he carefully took the toy from Steve, cuddling the foot-long plush to his chest. He smiled shyly at Tony from around the plush. "-ank you," he said softly.

"You're welcome Peter," Natasha said, smiling at him with her eyes. 

He ducked his head, resting his chin on the shoulder of his new toy, pressing it closer to his chest. Steve's arms came around him, enveloping him in a warmth. Peter slowly pet the soft fluff of the Iron Man toy down methodically. He was safe, and Steve wasn't going to leave him. They were all here, they were all safe.

He took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing into the super-soldier's hold. They weren't leaving him. Peter felt Steve sigh against him and he cuddled closer.

"Peter, I really hate to do this, but Tony and I have to leave for two hours."

_WHAT!?!_

The child sat up, stick-straight, and stared at Steve with horrified eyes. They were  _leaving him?  Now?_

"Hey, Peter, Peter," Steve soothed, hands on his shoulders. "I'm coming back, I-" he paused, chewing on his lip uncertainly. "I promise, and I  _will_ come back, okay? I'm Captain America, and I promise nothing bad will happen to me."

Peter fought the rising fear choking his chest. "You su-re you-ll com ba-a?" He asked, fingers twisting into Steve's shirt nervously. 

"I'm positive," Steve affirmed. "Here," he looked up. "Clint, can you grab the little jewelry box from on my dresser?" The archer nodded and headed back into the hallway. He returned quickly with a little navy blue box clutched gingerly in his hands.

The blonde archer passed it silently to Steve, who took it carefully and opened it, showing the contents to a curious Peter. The child peered inside to see a brass compass nestled on a midnight blue velvet. Steve gently lifted the plain compass up and flipped it open, staring at the inside for a second before flipping it around and letting it lay on the palm of his hand.

Cautiously, Peter reached forward and took it, gazing at the picture on the inside of the lid. It was a little newspaper clipping of a lady, who was very pretty, Peter thought, even as the newspaper yellowed and peeled around her.

"Peter," Steve said. "I want you to take this. Know that it is very precious to me, and I will always come back for it, ok?"  Peter nodded before looking up.

"-o's I-s?" he asked, pointing to the picture.

Sorrow flashed in Steve's eyes and he smiled sadly. "Her name is Peggy."

Peter studied the picture.

"Suh-es  -ery pre-tty."

Steve stayed silent for a moment, before he said finally, "Yes, she is." 

He pressed the compass closed and lifted a delicate brass chain out of the little box. Steve fiddled with the clasp before it came undone and he strung the compass onto the chain before he beckoned the boy to lean forward and fastened it around his neck. The compass hung somewhere around his navel, but Peter touched it softly and smiled.

"Nuh-w you -ave to com-e ba-ck."

Tony's eyes were sad and Steve frowned. "I'd come back anyway Peter," Steve insisted. "I'd come back for you."

"Buh- nuh-w you -ave to com-e ba-ck!" Peter declared happily, confident in the fact that even if Steve forgot about him or didn't want him anymore, the man would still come back for his compass.

Steve's frown grew deeper, but he enveloped the boy in a strong hug, holding onto him tightly. 

"I'll be back, okay bud?" he whispered into Peter's ear.

"O-k," Peter whispered back, hugging the super-soldier with surprising strength. Steve rubbed his back once before picking Peter up and placing him in Clint's lap. He pressed the Iron Man toy into Peter's hands, getting up off the couch. Resigned blue eyes bent down and kissed the boy on his forehead, smoothing down his hair before he was gone, with the lingering words,

"Take care of him."

Tony disappeared leisurely after him. Natasha got up to leave, but was halted by Peter's slightly quavering words: "Na-tha-sa, p-lease don- le-ave."

She blinked, surprised. "Course Peter."

Clint rested his head on the boy's shoulder as Natasha went to sit back down, bouncing the child slightly on his knee to distract him.

"So squirt, little Cap, mini Capsicle, bud," Clint rushed out. "Whaddya wanna do?" At Peter's silence, he continued to list. "We could play tag, hide-and-seek, draw. . . Um, I don't know, you like any of those?"

Peter thought about it. "I li-ke -ide and se-uh."

The archer grinned. "Great! You and Nat can hide first, just make sure you don't leave this floor, okay?"

With Peter's slightly more excited nod, Clint gently set him down on the ground and got up. Still holding on tightly to his Iron Man toy, Peter ran over to Natasha and motioned for the assassin to bend down. She did so and the child whispered in her ear.

"He-lp me ma-ke surh Cli-nt do-s nt  f-in me?"

The assassin laughed and looked down at him with pure delight. She winked at him and nodded, putting one finger on her lips. Peter grinned and took her hand, gripping her fingers firmly, while still holding on tightly to his Iron Man. Clint looked at the grinning pair suspiciously, but shrugged and moved to the middle of the room, closing his eyes.

"I'm going to count to ten!" he declared. "1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . ."

Natasha and Peter were off like a rocket, the assassin gently tugging him along as they ran out of the room. Nat ran silently, her passing like a breath of wind, while Peter's bare feet slapped loudly on the hardwood floor. The pair ran down the hallway, passing up endless rooms before Natasha gracefully slowed to a stop in front of a door, while Peter skidded to a halt clumsily behind her. 

The assassin grinned at Peter before opening the door. The child clutched his toy tighter and peered inside. It was a bedroom he noticed, and most likely Clint's, if the multitude of bows and arrow quivers were anything to go by. The large bed was unmade, sheets and blankets twisted together in a large lump. An idea sparked in Peter's head and he motioned to the med with the stuffed toy he held in his hand to the bed.

"Thuh-ere?" he asked, eyes gleaming with undisguised excitement.

Nat smiled down at the young boy. "Yes. It's perfect. Comfy enough to hide for long periods of time, but sneaky enough that Clint will never notice."

She hurried him over to bed, closing the door behind them. She lifted the child up, careful not to wrinkle anything, and with he air of a mother tucking her son into bed, drew the twisted covers up to Peter's chin, making sure his toy was hidden. The assassin regarded him for a moment, then nodded, satisfied.

"Cover up you head when you hear the door opening. I'll be watching over you, and if you need me, I'll be there."

Peter furrowed his brow, confused, but his mouth then hung open with awe as Natasha swung open the large ventilation vent above the door, and leapt easily inside. She winked at Peter before closing the vent.

The boy let out a little sigh, snuggling closer into the bed and cuddling his stuffed animal for comfort. He reminded himself, forcefully, that he was not alone. Clint was looking for him, and if he squinted, he thought he could see Natasha's red hair through the vent. So Peter laid, still as could be, excitement still pumping through his veins.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely to see you all again! School and everything has been crazy, but I finally reached my quota in order for me to update. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and you get a little hint of the fluff that is to come. I still love this story, so no one should worry about me not finishing it, though it may take a while. Stick with me, it will be worth it in the end. Comments are always greatly appreciated! They help me write faster ;) <3


	6. Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hide-and-Seek is surprisingly informative. Also Bruce makes an appearance!

Peter was sleepy. A little bored, but sleepy. 

He had laid there for like, FOREVER, and nothing happened. Peter sighed and laid his cheek on the cool sheet, closing his eyes. The bed smelled like Clint, slightly spicy cinnamon, and it was relaxing.

The boy dozed for a bit before he heard a slight click. He stiffened, all senses on alert, laying silently for a moment before wriggling himself down under the blankets. Peter held his breath, listening intently. He thought he heard breathing, but he wasn't sure. The child held as still as possible, not moving, barely breathing. After what seemed like ten minutes of silence, Peter carefully, slowly, peeked his head out from underneath the bedding, taking in a breath of fresh air. There was nothing.

Then the warmth of the bedding was ripped away, and hands attacked his sides

Peter shrieked in surprise and leapt the six feet to the ceiling, sticking with his hands and bare feet. The compass hung down from his neck, slowly revolving, glinting in the light like a fat spider hung from it's web. Peter clung there, breathing heavily, glaring reproachfully at Clint. The archer stood there, flabbergasted, mouth dropping open just a little bit. 

He gaped, rendered speechless at the small child sticking easily onto the ceiling.

Peter pouted, still glaring at Clint with angry eyes.

The assassin blinked once, and without removing his eyes from Peter, called out.

"Natashaaaa!" he yelled, eerily calm. "Natashaaaaa!"

"Yes?" came the faint reply. 

"I think you should come here!"

"Why?" came the slightly louder reply.

"Just comer here, gosh d-darn it," he shouted.

Peter heard a clang and turned his head to the side to see Natasha jumping lightly to the ground. She stalked over to Clint, looping her fingers around her waist.

"What is it?" She sighed, impatient. "And what is so important-" she glanced to the bed. Her gaze sharpened as she looked at Clint. "Where's Peter?" She asked with deadly calm.

"Look up," was the only response she received. 

Natasha gave him a weird look, but looked up anyway with a huff. Her eyes met Peter's and she froze.

"What is he doing up there?" she asked, her voice as cutting as a razor's edge. The assassin turned her piercing glare to Clint. "What did you do to him?"

The blond immediately backed up a step from the fiery red-head. "I didn't do anything!" he protested. "Little Capsicle did it all by himself!"

Natasha gave him a I-clearly-don't-believe-a-word-you-just-said-but-let's-drop-it-for-now look before turning back to Peter.

"Peter," she called up. Why don't you come down now."

He considered it for a second before sticking his chin out stubbornly. "No."

"And why not?" Natasha said patiently. 

"Buh-cause Cli-nt scar-edh me," Peter pouted, sticking his tongue out at the archer.

Natasha immediately turned and glowered at Clint.

"But scaring is part of the game!" he protested desperately

"No uht is-n't,"

"Yes it is,"

"No uht is-n't,"

"Yes it is,"

"No uht is-n't,"

"Yes it is-"

"Alright enough!" Natasha demanded, though the side of her lip quirked up in a barely concealed smile. "Peter, come down now please."

The child turned his head away defiantly. "No."

"Come on, little Cap," Clint said while clambering on top of the bed. "You have to come down now." He reached for the child, but Peter climbed nimbly away from his grasp.

"No I duhnt."

Clint bounced after him. 

"Yeah you do, you can't sleep up there, can you?"

Peter turned to the blond with a gleam in his eye.

"Yuhs I can," he said, and proceeded to curl up on the ceiling and pretended to sleep, fake snoring loudly.

Clint gaped at him.

Then the door slowly created open, and Peter opened his eyes, hoping or Steve or Tony. But instead the curly haired man from yesterday slipped in, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"What are you doing in here?" he murmured tiredly. "I'm trying to sleep, and you're really loud."

He blinked open his eyes blearily and spotted Peter on the ceiling. He blinked again before rubbing his eyes.

"I must be dreaming," he muttered. He opened his eyes again and stared at Peter for a few seconds before he pointed an accusing finger at Clint and Natasha. "What did you do!?!" He said, slightly hysterical.

Clint threw up his hands in exasperation. "Why does everyone think it's me!" He creid. "First Natasha, now you, Bruce!" He groaned, bouncing down and sitting on the bed.

"How many times do I have to tell everyone! It's not me, it's Peter!"

At the mention of Peter, Bruce perked up and he looked at Clint with renewed interest. "He did it by himself you say?"

The archer shrugged. "I mean yea, I think so. I just scared him and he stuck to the ceiling. You can ask him if you want."

Both men turned to the boy and he squeaked. They were looking at him so intently, what did they want?

"Peter," the newly identified Bruce said, adjusting his glasses. "Could you climb down the wall?"

Peter regarded the new man suspiciously, glancing at Clint and Natasha, who nodded and smiled encouragingly. The boy squinted his eyes, then stuck out his chin. "No." He said firmly.

Bruce let out a little sigh. "Peter, I'm not asking you  _to_ do it, I'm asking if you  _could_ do it."

The child brightened considerably. "Yuhs I cuh-ld do ith!"

He scuttled over to the edge of the ceiling, and easily sticking vertically as he climbed down face first. Peter stopped about five feet off the ground and tilted his head as if considering something.

"No, no, no, young man! Do not dare do what you're thinking of doing!" Natasha said sharply, catching onto what Peter was thinking.

The boy simply gave her a cheeky smile and jumped the rest of the way to the ground, ending in a graceful crouch.

Even Natasha managed to look impressed at that, though she gave him a disappointed look, turning away.

"Peter," Bruce said excitedly. "How would you like to go down to my lab and run some tests?"

That had peaked his interest. A lab? A honest to goodness lab? Of course he wanted to go!

The child scampered over to the scientist and grabbed his hand, giving the older man a start. Bruce looked down at the small human being who was giving him a toothy smile, flashing his missing teeth, and squeezed his hand, heart fluttering softly with warmth.

"Come on little bud, and let's see what's going on with you."

Peter nodded enthusiastically and the pair began to walk down the hall before Peter dug in his heels and forced Bruce to stop.

"Waih-" he panted. "I foh-guht Fee!"

Bruce blinked. 

"Fee?" he mouthed to Clint, who had followed him out the door. The archer simply shrugged as Peter dashed back into the room. He trotted back to Bruce, with his Iron Man plush tucked under one arm. When he reached the scientist, Peter held out his toy proudly with both hands. 

"-is is Fee!" he exclaimed to Bruce. 

The scientist shared an amused glance with Clint as he took Peter's hand again, leading him back down the hallway. 

"So what gave you the ability to climb up walls?" Bruce asked casually, though his eyes gleamed with excitement.

Peter bounced on the balls of his feet, replying instantly, "A ra-thioah-tive sth-pider."

Bruce stopped walking for a second. "A spider?" he questioned, continuing to walk. "Did the spider bite you?"

Peter nodded happily. "And thuen I got si-ck buh I got beh-ter. . ."

The child continued to ramble on, skipping down the hallway slowly, swinging his and Bruce's hands together.

This was going to be so much fun!

* * *

This was so boring. Sure, maybe it had been fun in the beginning, when Bruce had let Peter run around the lab and play with things, but it had soon dissolved.

The scientist had asked Peter if he minded taking his blood, and Peter gave it, albeit reluctantly. Bruce was amazed when the wound made from the needle healed within minutes, and the bruising was minimal. Peter was indifferent. He healed fast, so what? You didn't have to make a big deal about it. Clint and Natasha were also amazed, so he became a little proud of it. Then Bruce had asked him to sit in a chair, with Fee, while he hooked up different things to him. Peter was so done with it all, but he didn't want to tell Bruce, they'd only just met!

But Bruce seemed to pick up on his frustration and sped up, ruffling Peter's hair. 

"Don't worry bud, one more test then we can go make slime, ok?"

Peter gave a small smile.

"Surhe."

The scientist tried to speed his process but he was interested in his work, and it was something he'd never seen before, so naturally he got sucked into the science of it.

Peter was drumming his heels on the chair legs impatiently, when a disembodied voice male voice rang from the ceiling. 

"Dr. Banner, Captain Rogers and Sir have returned," Peter perked up. "Would you like me to rely a message?'

"Stevuh Ro-gers?" the boy inquired.

"Yes Mr. Parker."

The child squinted around the room, looking for the source of the source of the voice, before he glared accusingly at the ceiling.

"Aruh -you up the-ere?"

"Technically yes, Mr. Parker, though I am everywhere."

Peter's face morphed into confusion, and the voice continued. "I am an A.I., artificial Intelligence. My name is J.A.R.V.I.S., which stands for Just a Rather Very Intelligent System. My Master, Tony Stark built me," the cool British voice explained.

"You-re a com-puhter!" Peter exclaimed, excited.

"Yes Mr. Parker, and I can take a message to Captain Rogers if you would like."

Peter gave a polite smile to the ceiling. "Yes puh-lease."

"And what would you like to say?"

The child considered this for a moment, before an idea came to him, and he brightened, grinning.

"Saveh me!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again guys, so sorry for a late update! School is nuts and I haven't written in a while, but I decided you guys were so patient, you deserved a chapter. Will update again as soon as I can.  
> In the meantime, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR OVER A THOUSAND KUDOS!!! That is crazy! I had no idea this would become this popular, thank you guys so much! I promise to try to update more regularly. It's just so crazy, I always saw those stories, but I had no idea I would become one of them!  
> Love you guys! <3  
> Comments and kudos fuel my dead body ;)


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